


Freelance Good Guys: To Fight the Fog

by TheGreys (alienjpeg)



Series: Looming Gaia [10]
Category: Freelance Good Guys, Looming Gaia
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood and Gore, Centaurs, Character Death, Fantasy, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 02:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienjpeg/pseuds/TheGreys
Summary: Elska is a centaur, born and raised high in the mountains where few strangers dare to tread. Life is peaceful in her village of Loreham…Until it isn’t.





	Freelance Good Guys: To Fight the Fog

**Author's Note:**

> This story can read on its own, but it's technically part of the "Freelance Good Guys" series. It'll make more sense if you read them in order.
> 
> Please heed the tags for content warnings.
> 
> For concept art, lore, and worldbuilding stuff check out the masterpost: https://loominggaia.tumblr.com/post/175087795478/looming-gaia-masterpost

_SPRING, 5982_

 

     The centaurs of Loreham say that there is nothing beyond their mountain.

 

     “Never wander too far into the fog,” Elska’s father told her. “You will fall off the world, down and down until you wither with hunger.”

 

     So the centaurs stayed upon this mountain peak, knowing only themselves and the wilderness around them. This was how they lived since the beginning of time, when the gods molded them from stone and bone and blessed them with this bountiful sanctuary.

 

     Elska would take her father’s place as chief one day. But for now, she followed in his shadow as he taught her all she would need to know. On this fine day in the Season of Bloom, Chief Eindrid led his daughter to a place she had never been in all her nine years.

 

     He took her outside the safety of Loreham’s crude walls and into the forest beyond. Towering spruce trees loomed above a floor of damp undergrowth. But the centaurs had stamped the growth beneath their hooves for generations, had carved their own path to the forest’s edge. “When the path ends, we must turn back,” Eindrid told Elska. “That is where the fog waits, and it will pull you in if you get too close.”

 

     Elska stood a quarter of her father’s size, hardly mobile in her fur coat all stuffed with feathers. “I will fight the fog!” she exclaimed, raising her stone hammer high.

Eindrid smiled. He told her, “The fog cannot be fought, Elska. It has no bones to crush or blood to spill.”

 

     The young centaur furrowed her brow, utterly perplexed by such a notion. She couldn’t picture such a creature in her mind, for she knew only her people and the animals granted to them by the gods. She knew of the caribou, the wolves, rabbits, birds, and insects—had trapped, gutted, and skinned them all at least once.

 

     But how to trap a creature with no body? To gut the gutless and skin the skinless?

 

     They moved down the path until a thin white mist enveloped them. Elska trotted closer to her father, grasping the end of his cloak. The deeper they went into the trees, the thicker the mist became, until finally they reached a solid wall of white. Its particles glittered in the sunbeams piercing through the canopy, a wall in motion like a living thing.

 

     Eindrid stopped before it. Elska stared wide-eyed at the rolling mist and knew in her heart that she should not pass through it.

“This,” began Eindrid, “is the fog. It never leaves and there is no way around it. When our people go through it, they do not come back.” He looked down at his daughter, face stony and grim. “People like your mother.”

 

     “Mother?” Elska gasped, whirling around to face him. “I had a mother?”

Slow and sullen, Eindrid nodded. “She was fierce and strong,” he said. “Loyal. _Stubborn_. The finest hunter of our village. She was back to the forest just a week after your birth. Refused to stay down, refused to be cared for.”

 

     He turned back to the fog. A deep crease carved itself between his ashen brows. “The hunters tell me they were attacked by wolves. Someone was badly wounded, and then the wolves fled into the fog. But your mother was too stubborn to let them escape. No one could stop her. She disappeared through here,” he pointed to the trail, fading into the whiteness, “and she still has not returned.”

 

     Elska stared at the trail in disbelief. Eindrid had never spoken about her mother before today. She was cared for by the midwives of the village until she refused their milk. Then she was left with her father, and she had been in his care ever since.

“She fell off the world,” Elska said quietly.

 

     Eindrid simply nodded, let out a hum. A long silence passed. Then his daughter turned back to him and asked, “What was her name?”

“Her name was Jorun.” Eindrid kneeled and took a lock of his daughter’s hair between his fingers, admired it solemnly. “You look very much like her. Long hair of gold and eyes of blue, just the same. You will be big and strong as she was, but I pray you will not as foolish. The thirst for vengeance is a curse. Never forget that.”

 

     With that, he turned and began heading back down the trail. Elska took one last look at the fog, then rushed to her father’s side.

 

*

 

     The isanae were fleeing. These dainty ivory-skinned ladies had danced across Loreham all winter and turned the grass to frost, blanketed everything in layers of snow. Now the Season of Blue Skies had chased them away, back up into the highest peaks of the Shrieking Mountains.

 

     But the snow never completely melted in Loreham. There were always slushy drifts piled in the corners of the village even in the warmest days of the year. Eindrid spent the afternoon smashing slippery ice puddles with his axe. He gave Elska an axe of her own, told her to do the same.

 

     The tool dwarfed her. The little centaur’s arms quaked as she struggled to raise it high, then brought it down and shattered another lake of ice. “Why are we battling the ice, Father? Is it our enemy?” she panted.

Eindrid stood several yards away, his long hair tied in two braids. They did not need their heavy coats in this season, wearing instead simple hide garments.

 

     He explained, “It is both our ally and our enemy. It is our ally when it keeps our meat from spoiling, but it is our enemy when our hooves slip upon it.” He swung his axe, chipped away at a large puddle. “Those who cripple a leg become a burden. They are as infants, another mouth we all must feed as they rot away. It is no good for anyone.”

 

     Elska furrowed her brow at the frozen dip before her, nodded in understanding. “I will protect our people then,” she said. “I will fight the ice!”

 

*

 

     The seasons passed by and by, stripping away the years as well as the color from Eindrid’s hair. But while his youth faded, his child only became bigger and stronger.

 

     Elska had seen twenty years now. She had grown big and strong just as Eindrid knew she would, boasted strength and courage even greater than her mother’s.

 

     Elska would not be officially recognized as chief until her father’s passing. Still she performed the very same duties as he, and that meant picking up slack wherever it was needed in the village. She was a hunter, a farmer, gatherer, builder, and lumberjack all in one day. She made bricks, crushed berries into wine, weaved linens, and forged new pathways through the forests.

 

     Eindrid still decided how many trees should be logged each year and how many animals should be hunted. He decided where new longhouses were built, what to do if the crops were diseased, and what to do in times of scarcity.

 

     “How do you know, Father?” Elska asked him one day. “How do you know when the trees will grow back? How do you know exactly which ones to cut? It doesn’t make sense to me. I feel like I will never understand.”

 

     And Eindrid simply told her, “I thought the same when I was young. But when my father passed, I swallowed his ashes as he had swallowed his father’s, and their ancestors’ before them. Their spirits became part of me, and when our people looked to me for guidance, suddenly I knew everything our forefathers knew. It was as natural as breathing.”

 

     Elska wrinkled her nose. Her eyes were full of doubt. “I promise,” her father continued, “that I will always be there to guide you. Though the body dies, the spirit is forever. It cannot be crushed for it has no bones, and it cannot bleed for it has no blood.”

 

     Elska’s blue eyes rounded. “Like the fog,” she said.

Eindrid smiled. “Yes. Like the fog.”

 

     That night, Elska lie awake in her clan’s longhouse while her father, her aunts and uncles, and all her little cousins snored around her. With nothing but knowledge, her tiny world had become so much larger. If what her father said was true, if the spirit was truly forever, then one day she would gallop freely through the fog and into the mysteries beyond.

 

     She would run over the void where a body would sink, fly over the sky and expose the secrets of the sun and the moon. She would finally know what the birds knew and couldn’t tell.

 

     But that was all many, many seasons away. For now, Elska was still but stone and bone, and it was her duty to look after her people and their sacred land.

 

*

 

     One morning in Elska’s twenty-second year, her village faced a famine like she had never seen. Something must have frightened the limniads—the nymphs of flowers and crops—for they never came to bless the centaur’s farms that spring. The yields were pathetic. The forest too was neglected. Without spring growth, wildlife had nothing to feed on. Animals withered and died, and the centaurs were left with a forest of bones.

 

     The livestock grew thin, mothers’ milk ran dry, and Elska could stand the desperate cries of their children no longer. She spent days combing every inch of the forest, pushing the bounds of the fog until it blinded her. Her father said the end of times would come if they became greedy. The gods granted them as many animals as they needed and none more.

 

     Elska refused to believe that every one was gone, for she heard birds still chirping in the treetops. They were songs of hope that drove her on despite her hunger. The birds were eating something, and something must be eating the birds. A centaur could never reach the skies, but they had the strength to bring the skies down.

 

     Tying a rock to the end of a rope, Elska pitched it high into a tree. Once it looped around a sturdy branch, she pulled with all her might and reeled the rope in. Her hunger was strong but her determination was stronger. The branch bent down and down, all the way down to her feet.

 

     Elska fastened the rope around another trunk, holding the branch in place as she combed it for food. Her eyes lit up when she found a bird’s nest. Here were three eggs, blue and nutritious. She could have them all, but her father’s words echoed in her conscience.

 

     She put two of the eggs in her basket and left one. Then, nestled just below she found an acorn. Not far from that, two more acorns. There were loads of them, she realized, and pocketed all but every fifth one she found. The rope was carefully slacked as she let the branch return to its place high above.

 

     Elska brought down another branch this way, then another, and more still. She couldn’t wait to show her baskets to her people, overflowing with seeds, eggs, nuts, and insects. Just as she was about to pitch the rope once more, a snapping twig startled her. She whipped her gaze to the right, expecting a deer or even a wolf.

 

     How wonderful that would be, but no such luck. She furrowed her brow at the creature frozen before her. She wasn’t sure _what_ she was looking at. It was not an animal, for it had a person’s face. It was definitely not a centaur either. It stood on two legs like a nymph, but it was not a creature of feminine grace.

 

     Rather, he was a masculine thing with fair skin like Elska’s own, but it was smeared with dirt and what looked like blood. He wore armor like a beetle’s hide, shiny and silver as a spider web. His silver helmet was ridged with spikes along the top. He and Elska locked eyes, blue to green. He had just stepped out of the fog.

 

     Elska dropped her rope and instead gripped the handle of her axe. “What are you?” she barked. The stranger jumped, startled, and took a step back. Elska stepped forward and asked, “Are you beast or nymph?”

 

     The stranger looked at her the way a rabbit looked at a wolf. Then in an instant, he turned and bolted back into the fog.

“Wait!” Elska shouted as she charged him. She stopped just before the rolling wall of white, squinting and straining to see beyond it. He had disappeared in its grasp.

 

     That was impossible. He had no wings like the birds, so how did he pass through? Where did he come from if there was no land beyond? Elska was left to stand there and ponder, mouth agape in utter befuddlement. Perhaps her brain was just as starved as the rest of her. Maybe the entire encounter had never happened at all.

 

     Elska scrubbed at her face, suddenly warm and sweaty under her palms. She returned to her baskets and confirmed they were real, tangible things full of real, tangible food. It was time to go, she decided, and carried them back to Loreham.

 

*

 

_AUTUMN, 6004_

 

     Days passed and the centaurs clung to life with Elska’s inventive new idea. They scoured the treetops where they had never thought to look before, for the gods had always provided enough on the ground.

 

     “You make me proud, Elska,” Eindrid told his daughter. “You’ve guided our people through this hardship where I myself have failed. I know you will be the finest chief Loreham has ever known.”

 

     Elska smiled with pride, but that smile quickly faded as he continued, “I feel my time is near. The gods give us only as much as we need. My leadership was enough when times were simple. Now we’ve been blessed with a more capable leader, and I believe it is a sign of darkness ahead.”

 

     His daughter took a deep breath, steadying the quake in her hands. “I will fight the darkness,” she said.

 

     Elska never told anyone about the stranger in the forest. They would not believe her, perhaps even think her insane and unfit to lead the village. She hardly believed it herself. Once she got some food in her stomach, the memory became a hazy dream and nothing more.

 

*

 

     Some villagers had finally died of starvation. This had never happened before, and the centaurs were beginning to doubt Eindrid’s leadership. Eindrid assured his people that it was the will of the gods, who took these mouths away to ensure the rest of them had enough to eat.

 

     Then, villagers began to go missing.

 

     Foragers went out to bend trees and simply never came back. Elska and Eindrid combed the forest for clues. They found no corpses and Eindrid couldn’t imagine they wandered through the fog unless they were being chased. And with all the wolves in the forest hunted to extinction, what could have chased them?

 

     The memory of the beetle-backed stranger haunted Elska once again. He was hardly larger than a nymph and any centaur could have crushed him under their hooves. They would not fear him. But if he was anything like the nymphs, perhaps he knew magic spells. What kind of magic was he capable of? She had no way of knowing.

 

     Maybe this stranger was real after all, and maybe he was a bigger threat than she thought. And what if there were more like him? Two-legged peoples with silver hides that could stride through the fog, right over the void beyond. The thought gave Elska chills, yet she could not bring herself to tell her father. Not yet.

 

     If she was any kind of capable leader, she could deal with this creature herself. Elska set out into the depths of the forest. She set up camp near the edge of the fog and simply waited, axe in hand under the cover of her shelter. It was just a crude lean-to made from pine branches, but she had rolled in the dirt to disguise her stark golden hide within.

 

     There Elska waited for several minutes. The minutes turned to hours, then the hours turned to days. By the second day, her supplies ran dry and she was forced to come home. She trudged down the trail towards Loreham, bitter about all the time wasted waiting for an imaginary foe. Was she really so foolish? Just like her mother!

 

     Or perhaps not.

 

     The usual sounds of Loreham were gone. No clomping hooves, no chatter, no bustling. Elska returned to an eerie silence, and as she cautiously stepped through the village, she could find no signs of life. Once she reached the village center, she found signs of death instead.

 

     The path was stained with splatters and smears of blood. She followed them, holding her axe in a white-knuckled grip. And when she rounded the corner, she gasped at the grisly sight before her, nearly dropping to her knees in sorrow.

 

     There lie Eindrid, unmoving and eviscerated. A layer of frost covered the innards which spilled from his equine belly, and Elska knew she was much, much too late. This must have happened the very day she left. She turned, mouth agape in horror as she noticed more corpses around her. Villagers, her people, maimed to death by foes unknown.

 

     She rushed through the village, desperately searching for a single living soul. Everyone was gone, tools and baskets lying about like they’d been suddenly dropped. There were a few corpses, but barely a third of her people were accounted for. Where had the rest gone? Had they fled in the attack?

 

     No, Elska thought. They were stolen away just like the foragers, for she found dozens of hoof prints trailing out of the main gate. Many were smeared, as if the centaurs were resisting someone’s pull. Beside the familiar hoof prints were other prints she could not identify.

 

     They were bean-shaped similar to a nymph’s, but much larger and without any toes. She thought back to the beetle-backed stranger, recalled his big leather feet. She knew now that there must have been more of him, and they had probably been stalking the centaurs through the fog for some time.

 

     Elska returned to her father’s corpse. She dropped to her knees, let her body slump down beside him. His arm was extended, reaching for his axe lying just out of his grip. He fought valiantly, she could see, but it wasn’t enough. If only she stayed, then maybe…

 

     Tears streaked through the dirt on Elska’s face. She quickly wiped them away and balled her fists, closed her eyes tight. Tears would not bring her father back. They would not bring her family, her people, or her village back. Rising to her feet once more, Elska gathered kindling from her barren longhouse.

 

     She placed the kindling around her father’s corpse and ignited it with nothing but a stick and some friction. She stood and watched in silence as his hair ignited, his beard, his fur, and finally his tail. The fire consumed Eindrid’s corpse, burned it away to free his soul within.

 

     When there was nothing left of him but ash and fragments of bone, Elska cupped the dust of his remains in her hands. She swallowed a fistful and smeared the rest down her cheeks like black tears spilling from her eyes. The ash made her choke. Plumes of dust billowed from her mouth as she coughed, staggering, trying to stay upright when nausea overtook her.

 

     Soon the nausea gave way to a feeling of calm reassurance. A hand on her shoulder, a strong presence by her side. She could hear her father’s breath in the wind, felt his heartbeat in the earth, and in that moment she knew exactly what she must do.

 

     “I will find our enemy,” she growled, “and I will fight them!”

 

*

 

     Elska of Loreham had nothing to lose when she walked away from her barren village that cloudy afternoon. She packed whatever supplies hadn’t been looted by their mysterious foes and set off down the southern trail.

 

     The tracks led her to the edge of the fog. They passed right through the mist, and how so? The beetle-backs must know something the centaurs didn’t. Elska had no choice. If she should stay in Loreham or of she should fall off the world, she would rot alone either way.

 

     With a deep breath, Elska willed her hooves forward and stepped through the mist. She moved slowly, cautiously, every footfall testing for solid ground. The fog only got thicker. She could see nothing ahead or behind, not even the nose on her face. Not even the sun in the overcast sky, and so she had no reference for her direction.

 

     Elska could only hope she was still following the tracks. Suddenly her hoof slipped and for a moment, she was sure she’d stepped off the edge of the world. But it only sank down a few inches and settled. A dip in the packed soil. A shallow ditch. She decided to follow it by feel, and after some time the fog began to clear.

 

     More and more the whiteness dissipated as she moved further. Elska could see the ditch now—and it was no ditch at all. It was a track from a large wheel and there was a second beside it. Cart tracks. She followed the tracks even further into the unknown.

 

     Finally it seemed she had passed safely through the fog, and the unknown was no longer so unknown.

 

     There was an entire world on the other side! No void, no field of endless stars like she expected. This world had a wide open sky just like Loreham, rolling meadows of green peppered with small forests, and she could even see a snowcapped mountain in the distance.

 

     She was standing high on a mountain herself, she realized. It had been a downhill trip the whole way. She looked back at the wall of fog, saw rocky peaks jutting high above it. Loreham was up there somewhere, left to decay by its last remaining chief. The green hills ahead were so expansive that Elska’s eyes struggled to see their horizons. Never in her life had she looked at something so far away.

 

     So her ancestors were wrong. Elska’s world came crashing down around her in more ways than one, and all she could do now was step into this new world full of mystery. She would simply follow the cart tracks for now. They led her down a steep, winding trail that spiraled down the mountain.

 

     The trek was long and arduous, cold and windy. Several hours later, Elska found herself standing between vast fields of bloom. Flowers stretched on further than she could see on either side of the trail. The mountain of fog loomed high, high above. She moved ever forward and the mountain grew smaller behind her, the fog less imposing, until her sacred land was nothing but a speck on the horizon.

 

     Ahead she could see a new mountain. It was just a baby compared to the one behind her. Its snowy peak jutted through the dark forest below, and Elska wondered if there were other centaurs there. But the tracks did not lead her towards that mountain. There was a fork in the trail and the tracks veered in the opposite direction.

 

     Elska dutifully followed. Though she tried not to get distracted, she couldn’t help but notice the animals dashing through the long grasses. She saw rabbits, foxes, mice and birds—all things that she knew from back home. And here they were in abundance, hiding behind the fog this whole time!

 

     The path was taking her through a small forest now. Elska stepped into the shade of the lush canopy above, but these trees were not like the ones in Loreham. They were shorter, slimmer, most with leaves rather than needles. The ground was not choked with undergrowth here. Elska could march off the path if she wished with no fear of breaking a leg.

 

     The leaves whispered in the breeze. Alien birdsong rang through the air, very unlike the songs of Loreham. The songs were suddenly interrupted by a distant scream ripping through the trees. Birds fled the forest in great flocks while Elska turned all around, searching for the source.

 

     A second scream closely followed the first, then another, and soon she could hear four feminine voices crying out. These were not cheers of joy, but wails of fear. Elska clutched her axe tight and trotted faster down the trail, head whipping this way and that. Now she could see movement in the distance brush, flashes of color rustling through the leaves.

 

     She was off the trail now, but her quest would have to wait. If there was danger in this new world, it should be known to her. Elska’s heavy hooves pounded the soil as she weaved through the trees. The screams were getting closer. There was a child among them and now masculine voices were shouting too.

 

     Elska exploded through a thicket of bushes and into a clearing, axe raised high, ready to strike the first thing that rushed her. She saw three female people of a species unknown. They stood on two furry legs tipped with cloven hooves. Stubby horns sprouted from their foreheads, their hair and skin a variety of shades. One of them held a crying child close to her body.

 

     Someone was trying to take her child from her. Elska’s eyes rounded when she saw his silver plates, his spiked helm, his leather feet—it was another beetle-back! And he was not alone, for two more of his kind had been harassing the behooved women. They had rusty shackles in hand as if trying to bind them.

 

     All faces turned to Elska, frozen in confusion and perhaps fear. All went silent except for the babe, wailing in terror. Elska had no business with the women, knew not of their plight and didn’t care either way. She saw the beetle-backs and then she saw red. She charged them with a mighty bellow and in that instant, they released the women and scattered like the insects they resembled.

 

     Elska chased the trio through the trees, only a short distance before she outran one. The other two disappeared into the depths of the forest as she rammed her enemy with her equine body. He fell forward and rolled twice. Before he could rise, he let out a wail of pain as Elska’s heavy hoof stamped his belly.

 

     Now he was pinned between her weight and the forest floor. Quickly he reached for the sword at his hip, but Elska was quicker. She brought her axe down and its stone edge sliced through his bare bicep. The beetle-back screamed and writhed, blood gushing from his fresh stump.

 

     “Speak!” Elska barked. “Tell me what you have done with my people!”

Her enemy shouted something into the trees. Probably a call for help, but his words were just gibberish to her ear. The others did not come back for him. Elska couldn’t even see them now, had no idea which direction they’d gone.

 

     Elska dug her hoof in deeper, looming over him like the mountain over her village. “Speak to me, swine!” she snarled. She grabbed his helm and wrenched it off his head, exposing short brown hair. She then raised her axe like she might chop through his neck. But she had no intention, for he was her only clue to Loreham’s fate. He did speak then, but only frantic nonsense. Was this a trick? Some way to confuse her?

 

     Now it didn’t matter, for his face suddenly exploded in a bloom of gore. Elska gasped and stepped away, eyes flashing up at the behooved woman before her. One of the victims had bashed the beetle-back’s head in with a heavy rock, and she was bashing him still, over and over until nothing but red paste topped his shoulders.

 

     “What have you done? I needed him alive!” cried Elska. She charged forward and the furry-legged woman scrambled away, leaving the bloody rock beside her assailant-turned-victim. Elska looked down at the corpse. It was much too late now. Her eyes flashed back to the behooved woman staring fearfully back at her.

 

     The other women stood nearby with one foot in the thicket, ready to bolt. They began to chatter, and once again Elska heard nothing but gibberish. She realized now that it wasn’t gibberish—perhaps people below the mountain just had a different way of speaking. Just as the birds sang because they had no lips, just as the wolves growled because their maws were so long.

 

     This was all a misunderstanding. The women thought she had saved them from the beetle-back, when all Elska had done was try to interrogate him. Now the women were crowding around her and chattering frantically. They pointed to the east as if urging her to move in that direction.

 

     But the tracks were going west and she had come from the north. What could possibly be waiting for her east of here? The little mountain, Elska recalled. Maybe they were pointing her towards more of her kind.

 

     There was no time to think about it as more shouts erupted from the forest. The behooved women bolted in that instant, disappearing into the thicket. Elska whirled about, reluctant to leave and fearful of staying. She heard thunder rumbling further down the trail.

 

     Not thunder, but rather the pounding of hooves. Her jaw dropped, eyes wide when she saw the horrors speeding towards her. Two centaurs, black as the night. Only they could not be centaurs, because in place of their torsos were large beast heads with equally black manes.

 

     These horrid creatures were mounted by more beetle-backs, whooping and shouting with weapons raised high. So they had returned for their friend after all. Elska did not fear the beetle-backs. But these wretchedly deformed not-centaurs made her lose all resolve, and she found herself fleeing as fast as her legs would take her.

 

     She weaved through the trees, leaped over rocks and bushes, felt hooves thundering just behind her. She knew just one fall would be her undoing. Finally she found her way back to the smooth trail of packed dirt. The beetle-backs and their awful mounts exploded through the brush around her, trailed her back the way she came.

 

     Elska sprinted out of the forest and back into the vast plain of blooms. This time she headed for the little mountain to the east, hoping, praying that she would find more of her kind there. She passed the fork in the road and her enemies were still on her tail. She would run herself to death before she reached the mountain.

 

     Elska reached for the rope fastened to her belt. She had used it as a tool to bend branches just yesterday, but today she used it as a weapon. She unraveled the coil and pitched it behind her, right at the closest mount’s feet. Its hooves became tangled immediately and down it went with a hellish braying sound. The beetle-back toppled off its back, only to trip the second mount.

 

      Her legs as water, her heart as a hammer, Elska was forced to slow to a stop. Sweat poured from her brow and she swiped it from her eyes, panting as she turned to look back at her pursuers. The black not-centaurs scrambled back to their feet and ran away towards the forest.

 

     They had abandoned their beetle-back jockeys, who writhed on the ground with injured limbs. One tried to stand and quickly toppled again. The other didn’t try to stand at all. Elska’s grip tightened on her axe. Now was her chance.

 

     Her enemies saw her approaching. One drew a sword and the other, a bow. Just as he nocked an arrow, Elska lobbed her axe and sent it spinning through the air. Its stone blade struck the archer’s helm with such force, his neck snapped back and he fell to the ground, silent and unmoving.

 

     The second enemy had no time to react as she charged him. Her hooves met his chest and then his head, over and over as she trampled him to death. She did not stop until gore oozed from the gaps in his silver armor. Then she picked up her axe and lopped off the other’s head.

 

     Elska fastened his helm to her belt, his severed head trapped within by the chinstrap. If he could not speak anything but gibberish to her, then she would find someone who shared her tongue. Her best bet was the little mountain surrounded by forests, so she continued down the path with a bloody piece of evidence dangling from her belt.

 

*

 

     The mountain was further than it looked. The rolling valley just seemed to stretch on and on until Elska’s legs quaked with exhaustion. The sun was disappearing behind the horizon and she could not go on in the darkness. Taking shelter between a group of trees, Elska arranged heavy stones into a fire pit. The blaze kept her warm through the coldest hours of night.

 

     When Elska awoke, the fire was out and the sun was high. She never meant to sleep so long, but out here beyond the fog there were no bustling villagers to wake her. Their spirits haunted her dreams all through the night, driving her on in her daunting quest.

 

     Elska set off down the trail once more. The severed head at her hip was beginning to smell. Perhaps the cold air of the mountain would preserve it a little longer, and perhaps someone would recognize who he is and where he came from.

 

     Half of the day disappeared before Elska reached the mountain. She encountered so many strange people along the trail—more people with cloven hooves, green-skinned people with long ears and noses, and even some who resembled the beetle-backs without their beetle-armor.

 

     All of them spoke gibberish, and all of them ran away from her when she showed them the severed head. So she moved on in her search, began ascending the mountain on a trail that grew more treacherous the further she climbed. One misstep would send her tumbling down a rocky face to her death.

 

     Eventually she reached a dead-end. Elska stood as high as the trail would take her, on a frigid precipice overlooking the forest below. The mountain was taller still, but the road ended here. In its face she noticed a tall crevice, a place where the rock had split and gave way to a dark cave.

 

     Elska cautiously stepped towards the opening and peeked inside. “Hello?” she called. She heard her voice echo off the stony walls. It was too dark to see. As she turned to leave, she heard a deep, terrible groan rumble through the crevice. In a split second she wrenched the axe off her belt and braced herself, facing whatever was stomping its way out.

 

     It quaked the ground with every footfall. Just when Elska thought she’d seen the worst of this foreign world, something even uglier stepped out of the cave. It stood five centaurs tall, a creature with one large eye on its face and leathery grey skin all dotted with warts. It walked on two legs and shook its fists furiously at her.

 

     Every step was laborious for this behemoth, weighed down by layers and layers of jiggling blubber. Elska was dwarfed in its presence. Her axe was useless, so she tried to reason first. “My name is Elska of Loreham,” she said. “Are you friend or foe?”

 

     The behemoth said nothing, but it didn’t have to. It answered her question with action alone. Elska darted away when it tried to crush her beneath its massive fist. The force cracked solid stone beneath, and then it turned to take another swipe at her. Elska threw herself down to dodge a backhand—one that would have surely taken her head off if it collided.

 

     Unbalanced by its own momentum, her giant foe nearly toppled over itself. Its struggle gave Elska time to rise and charge forth, ramming herself against the back of its knee. Its bellow shook the mountain as it flailed, wobbled, and then crashed onto its back.

 

     Elska quickly leaped onto its torso, making her way up to its face with her axe raised. Before she could sink her blade into its eye, the behemoth seized her equine body in its fist. It raised her one-ton weight like she was a mere plaything. Elska furiously chopped at its fingers while it struggled to sit up, but its calluses were hard as stone.

 

     The behemoth drew its arm back, ready to pitch her off the side of the mountain. But it seemed their combined weight was too much for the cracked stone, and it gave way beneath them. The precipice collapsed. The behemoth rolled down its face like a boulder, and somewhere half-way down it lost its grip on Elska.

 

     The centaur stopped rolling shortly, lying on a slope of loose rocks as she shook the dizziness from her head. But the behemoth was just too heavy to stop, and his momentum kept him tumbling down and down until he disappeared into the forest below.

 

     Elska heard a boom, followed by cracking, toppling trees. Flocks of birds poured out into the sky and whizzed passed her. She took the moment to simply catch her breath. Then she cautiously stood, mindful of the loose gravel beneath her. She was bruised and bleeding, but miraculously not crippled.

 

     Her axe, however, was nowhere to be found. It must have tumbled to the bottom of the mountain with the behemoth, she thought. She heard no chaos and saw no movement below, so she slowly, carefully made her way down the slope. Clearly there was nothing more for her on this wretched mountain.

 

*

 

     Elska made her way over a thicket of branches and splintered, fallen tree trunks before finally stepping into a forest clearing. Here she could see the remains of the behemoth, limp and dead with a mighty trunk piercing through its chest. Blood seeped down in gobs, soaking the soil below.

 

     The centaur combed through the mess of debris for her axe. Eindrid said her mother made it for her before she was even born. “She’ll grow into it,” Jorun told him, and she’d been right. Elska’s hands felt useless and empty without it, like a piece of her body had gone missing.

 

     Elska lifted heavy logs over her head to check under them. She dropped them with a sigh. It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps—a familiar, heavy, _clomp, clomp, clomping_ headed towards her. Elska whirled around towards the noise. She reached for her axe but of course it wasn’t there.

 

     Then she saw a face peek out from the brush, pale and blue of eyes like herself. The stranger had long brown hair and a full beard of the same color. He locked eyes with Elska, then his teeth flashed in a smile. His hand raised up, greeted her with a friendly wave.

 

     Elska was still wary, bracing herself as he stepped towards her. When she saw his equine body pass through the thicket, her fear turned to excitement and she gasped, galloping across the clearing to meet him. Now it was he who looked afraid, raising his hands defensively as she neared.

 

     But Elska meant him no harm as she ran a circle around him. “I can hardly believe it! I thought I was the last of my kind!” she beamed. She seized the stranger by the shoulders and looked him up and down, needed to know that he was real and not just her mind playing cruel, cruel tricks.

 

     His torso was draped in a simple cotton shawl. He didn’t look much older than Elska herself. His equine fur was chestnut-brown and his face was marked by red tattoos—meaning he must have been married. And if he was married, then there must be more centaurs here!

 

     The stranger chuckled, “Oh no, you are hardly the last!” His smile faded a bit. “But it certainly feels that way sometimes, doesn’t it? We become fewer and fewer by the generation.”

 

     The way this centaur spoke was unusual, and Elska was not familiar with some of the words he used. But his language was similar enough to hers, and she was grateful to finally understand someone in this massive, alien world beyond the fog.

 

     Elska cocked her head. “What do you mean? Was your village attacked too?”

“Nearly a decade ago now,” he replied with a solemn nod. He pointed to the north and continued, “I hail from the Kaldenfel tribe. Our village was at the base of the Shrieking Mountains, but sadly it is no more.”

 

     His eyes flicked to the side, and it was then he noticed the streams of blood gushing down a tree trunk. He followed them up to the behemoth’s corpse, impaled and suspended half-way up the tree. “Oh! A cyclops!” he exclaimed. “I came to see what all the noise was. I suppose I’ve found my answer, haven’t I?”

 

     “Nevermind that,” said Elska. “Please, tell me who attacked your village! I seek vengeance, for they have taken everything from me! This…” She pulled the reeking head from her belt. “…is one of them. It is the only clue I have.”

 

     The stranger jumped at the sight of the greyed, bloody head. His eyes rounded and for a moment he hesitated. Then he began cautiously, “Er…I-I understand your pain. Truly I do. I can see that you are alone and weary just as I was so many years ago. Perhaps you should—”

 

     “Dad! Daaaaad!” a little voice called. Elska’s brows leaped when a young centaur, stubby and round as an acorn, came bounding out of the bushes towards them. In his chubby little hands was none other than her axe. “Look what I found! It’s—” The child froze, eyes widening when he laid them upon Elska.

 

     “Um, hi,” the boy greeted sheepishly. Then he turned to his father and whispered. “Dad, who is this giant lady?”

“Hush,” the stranger hissed back, then he addressed Elska once more. “My name is Olof. This is my son, Frederick. Might I ask your name?”

 

     “Elska,” she replied, pointing to the weapon in the boy’s hands. “Elska of Loreham. And I thank you for finding my axe.”

Olof nudged his child with his hip. “Did you hear that? Give it back to her, Frederick.”

“Awww…” the boy grumbled as he trudged towards Elska, surrendering the weapon.

 

     “You are welcome to share a meal with us, Elska,” Olof told her with a smile. “Perhaps then we can discuss your plight further. I may not have all the answers you seek, but there are others in the village who are much wiser than I. I’m sure someone will be able to help you.”

 

*

 

     Elska followed Olof down a winding path through the forest. Eventually they arrived in a village very unlike Loreham. There were no walls here, just small structures of stone and wood placed among the trees. Some of the biggest trees were hollowed out and made into structures themselves.

 

     She could see no longhouses, nowhere big enough to accommodate a centaur. And it became obvious why when she saw who dwelled here. It was not centaurs as she expected. Rather, smaller, two-legged people of all different kinds were busily milling about.

 

     This place was not snowy and it was not particularly cold either. Colorful flowers carpeted the grass beyond the dirt pathways. The air was noisy with chatter and birdsong. Elska was nearly overwhelmed by all the different creatures, the alien landscape, the varieties of gibberish languages assaulting her ears.

 

     “This is Drifter’s Hollow,” Olof told her. “It is nothing like Kaldenfel, but I have come to call it ‘home’ regardless. The people here met me with warmth and understanding in my darkest time, for they all share a similar story. We are all here because we are not welcome in the Blue Valley any longer.”

 

     “Blue Valley?” queried Elska.

Olof gestured vaguely back the way they came, “Yes, the land beyond this forest. Commoners have been raiding gaian settlements, I’m told, and selling us to Evangeline Kingdom as slaves.” He frowned. “I fear that was my dear wife’s fate, but I have no way of knowing. I took my son in the midst of the chaos, and like you, I fled my native land.”

 

     Gesturing to the village around him, he continued, “Drifter’s Hollow has become something of a sanctuary for us. Gaians, fae, commoners—all are welcome here without prejudice. But in return, you must leave your own prejudices behind.”

 

     Elska looked around at all the peoples. Peoples ugly and beautiful, young and old, peoples with horns twisting out from their skulls, peoples with skin, hair, and fur in hues as diverse as the flowers, all mingling amongst eachother in peace.

 

     “I suppose I have no choice,” she said. “But if what you say is true, if my people were taken away in bonds, then I will find them and I will set them free. I am Loreham’s chief and it is my duty to protect them!”

 

     Olof’s brows arched. “You are a chief? But you’re so young.”

“My father was chief before me, but he was killed in the raid,” Elska told him. Her tone was flat, though her stomach twisted at the memory. “He said that when I took his place, I would face great darkness. I told him I would fight the darkness, and I will not shame his spirit.” She patted the severed head at her hip, helm clanging under her palm.

 

     She followed Olof to a structure that was much more familiar. He and his son lived in a longhouse just as she did. It was tall and boxy with an A-frame roof, a foundation of cobblestone and plank walls. The doorway was wide, blocked off by a heavy door. Elska thought that strange, for the doorways in her village were blocked only by pelt curtains.

 

     They stepped inside. The interior was just as she thought it should be, an open space with few walls to divide it, piles of hay on the floor for resting, various tools and childrens’ toys scattered about, and several animal pelts insulating the walls. The air smelled like hay, sweat, wet soil, and very much like home.

 

     Olof, Frederick, and Elska rested by a crude wooden table where they shared a meal of bread and salted meat. Elska tore into her venison and spoke over a full mouth, “Tell me more about this _Evangeline Kingdom_.”

 

     “Ah,” Olof began, swallowing before he continued, “they are a menace to the fae and gaians of this land. They fear the fae’s magic and they think us gaians lowly beasts of burden, so they take no issue with putting us in shackles.”

 

     “What of him?” asked Elska, gesturing to the severed head. “Is he one of them?”

Olof’s lips pressed together in thought. After a moment he replied, “I am not sure. Kaldenfel was razed in the black of night, and I could not see what our enemy looked like. I just know that once I fled, others from all around the Valley had similar reasons for coming here. Their villages raided, their people taken away, and the refugees left to scatter.”

 

     He took another bite, paused as he chewed, and then went on, “So many say they fled Evangeline’s forces, that they were enslaving our kind and taking them away to the west. I’m told their kingdom is greater than we can imagine.” His gaze flashed up to Elska, sad and pleading. “If it’s vengeance you seek, your efforts will be in vain. Even if every villager in the Hollow rose up to fight, it would not be enough to stop them.”

 

     Elska leaned on the table, brow hardened above her scowling lips. “Then what am I to do?” she queried. “How am I to sleep at night while my people are in chains, slaving away for this wicked kingdom?” The table rattled under her fist as she slammed it down. “I refuse to give up! I _must_ fight!”

 

     Olof slowly shook his head and told her quietly, “No one will join this losing battle, Elska. I too must carry the burden of the unknown. Is my Halldora alive, breaking her back for Evangeline? Or is she looking down on me from the stars, cursing me for my cowardice? We do not know, and we shall never know.”

 

     A silence fell between them. Frederick looked between his father and Elska as he turned a toy around in his hands. It looked vaguely like a wolf, crudely whittled from bone. Finally the boy broke the silence and queried, “What about the Good Guys?”

 

     Elska and Olof turned to him, both wearing puzzled expressions. Frederick explained, “I bet they could help Elska. They fight for people all the time, it’s their job! They’re just down the road that way, it isn’t far.” He pointed towards the west.

 

     Turning to Olof, Elska queried, “What is he talking about?”

“Er…” Olof hesitated, swiping at his neck. “Some mercenaries settled nearby about a year ago. I helped to build their compound. They seem like good people, but…”

 

     “But what?” urged Elska.

Olof sighed, “Drifter’s Hollow is only safe because Evangeline does not know it exists. We cannot afford to have those mercenaries provoking the kingdom and leading them here! Please, Elska. I urge you to give up this hopeless quest of yours. You can make a new home of this place just as I have, and—”

 

     “I will _never_ give up! I am no coward!” Elska roared, rising to her feet. She stamped her hoof on the wooden planks and went on, “I fight for the honor of my fallen people! I will tell these mercenaries of Evangeline’s atrocities and they will fight by my side to bring this menace down!”

 

     Elska stormed towards the door, then froze when Olof told her, “You will tell them nothing. You will tell no one anything, for Frederick and I are the only ones here who understand your tongue.” He rose to his feet as well. “There are many languages in the Hollow, but everyone speaks _Universa_. I would be happy to teach it to you, if only you’ll promise to drop this plot of yours.”

 

      Elska turned back to him, clenching her fists at her sides. She glared at him for a long moment, her icy blue eyes boring through his nerve. Finally she muttered, “I promise nothing,” and then she picked up her axe and stomped through the door, kicking it shut behind her.

 

     Olof’s expression was heavy as he began clearing the table. His son asked, “Is she mad at us?”

“No, Frederick. She is in great pain,” said Olof. “We must be understanding, but we cannot allow her to jeopardize our safety. That’s why we cannot help her.”

 

     Frederick nodded and frowned down at his toy animal of bone.

 

*

    

     Elska headed down the western trail, the one she assumed would lead her to the mercenaries’ compound. Flies buzzed around her, landing on the severed head dangling from her belt. She cared not. She would carry it around until there was nothing but a dry skull in this helmet if that’s how long it took to identify her enemy.

 

     She heard quick hoofsteps behind her and turned, saw Olof’s son rushing towards her on his stubby legs. “Elska! Wait!” he cried. Elska stopped and Frederick stopped before her, hunching over as he caught his breath. His long brown hair fell over his face, curled and unruly.

 

     He panted, “I can take you to the Freelance Good Guys and I’ll translate everything for you!”

Elska raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So your father had a change of heart?”

“No,” the boy shook his head, “but I want to help even if he doesn’t. Come on, the compound is this way.” He took Elska by the hand and led her down a smaller trail branching from the one she’d traveled.

 

     Frederick’s fur was the same chestnut-brown as his father’s. His hair, however, was much darker and curled, where his father’s was ashen with only a slight wave. The centaurs in Loreham did not have so much diversity among them. Elska had never seen skin darker than ivory-white, hair or fur beyond gold or ashen, nor had she seen eyes beyond blue in another centaur until today.

 

     The world was so much bigger than she thought, in so many more ways than she could imagine. She had no idea what to expect when she followed Frederick to the compound, but what she got was almost another village in itself.

 

     The buildings here were larger, more solid than the rickety huts in Drifter’s Hollow. The first building they passed was up in a tree. It looked like a small house with a balcony around it, and standing on that balcony was a two-legged person drinking from a cup.

 

     Elska’s muscles tensed as he scrutinized her from above. But the tension was quickly diffused when Frederick waved to the man and greeted, “ _Allo_ , Lukas!” The man’s sharp stare never softened and he didn’t say a word. He simply raised his cup in greeting as they passed. Frederick leaned towards Elska and whispered, “He’s kind of a jerk.”

 

     Then they passed a small house of stone with a wooden fence all around. There was a barn in back and a small pasture where strange birds clucked and pecked at the ground. Frederick pointed to the house and said, “Captain Atlas lives there, but it looks like the lights are off. Everyone’s probably at the dining hall ‘cause it’s dinner time.”

 

     Elska slowly nodded, taking in everything around her. Then they arrived at a large building that looked quite similar to a centaur longhouse. It was long and boxy with a steep roof, an orange glow flickering through the windows. Elska could hear loud chatter and drunken laughter within.

 

     She closely followed Frederick as he opened the heavy door, and then they stepped into a spacious room with a roaring firepit in the center. The air was warm and smelled like baking bread, searing meat, and pungent smoke all at once. Before the firepit was a very long table with two dozen seats, though barely half of them were filled.

 

     Elska did not see another centaur here. Only two-legged peoples, drinking and laughing and shoveling through a feast. At the head of the table was a large and muscular man, fair of skin with short-cropped hair. His face was dark with stubble, hairy arms marred with old battle scars.

 

     This was the man Frederick spoke to in some gibberish language— _Universa_ , Elska assumed. The man seemed dismissive as they spoke back and forth. Then Frederick returned to Elska with a frown.

“Who is that? What did he say?” queried Elska.

 

     The little centaur replied, “That’s the captain. Um, he says he’s not to be bothered during dinner. If you want service, you gotta do the paperwork and leave it in the box by the—”

 

     Anger surged through Elska’s veins. She nearly trampled Frederick as she stormed towards the captain. One moment he was laughing as he raised a stein of beer to his lips. Then he jumped with a start, spilling his drink on himself when Elska slammed a severed head onto his plate.

 

     “You will help me _now_!” she bellowed. “I am from Loreham! My entire village was enslaved by whoever _these_ cretins are, and if they are not stopped, it is only a matter of time before they march this way and enslave you too!”

 

     The room fell deathly silent. The captain and his associates looked at one another with bafflement, having not understood a word she said. Frederick sheepishly stepped in and translated. Then the table broke out into fearful chatter, looking to their captain for answers.

 

     Rising from his seat, the captain raised his palms to quiet them. He calmly reassured them with some gibberish, then he gestured for Elska to follow him as he stepped outside. Frederick trotted along behind, leaving everyone else at the table to stare at the severed head.

 

     The captain closed the door behind them and cleared his throat. He spoke, and then Frederick translated to Elska, “Captain Atlas says he’s sorry to hear about your village. He says your story is sadly not new to him.”

 

     Elska crossed her arms, listening to another bout of words before Frederick translated once more, “He says throwing a bloody head on his plate was uncalled for and he didn't appreciate it. But he recognizes the helmet and says it’s a Kelvingyard slaver.”

 

     “Kelvingyard,” repeated Elska, testing the word on her tongue. “Tell me about these slavers then!”

Captain Atlas explained bit by bit, keeping his sentences short and simple as not to overwhelm the child. Frederick continued for him, “They’re a big mercenary company contracted by Evangeline Kingdom. The kingdom sends them to capture fae and gaians around the Blue Valley...”

 

     “…The Captain says he won’t mess with Evangeline Kingdom. It’s too big and powerful. But if someone you know was enslaved, he might be able to free them…”

 

     “...He says it takes a lot of time and money, and he makes no promises that it can be done at all. But if you pay him enough, he can at least try. Um, that’s all he has to say,” Frederick finished.

 

     Elska furrowed her brow as she thought it over. All she had was her axe, her ragged clothes, and the scant supplies in her pack. “I can offer a pound of acorns for your efforts,” she said, patting the leather pack on her shoulder. “I will even offer my axe!”

 

     Frederick relayed this information to the captain, then he translated his response, “Sorry, Elska. He says it’s not enough, not even close. Freeing slaves is a big risk to his company and buying their freedom costs a lot of gold.”

 

     Elska’s gaze shifted from Frederick to the captain. He stared up at her with apologetic eyes of green, hands planted on his hips. There was a silence between them, then the captain let out a big sigh and said something else to Frederick. The little centaur beamed as he translated, “Oh! He says if you want to earn some gold, he’s always looking for a bigger crew! You just have to pass a trial first.”

 

     Gold? Elska had no concept of it. She could only assume it was what she needed to give this man in order for him to cooperate. “Fine,” she said, exhaustion creeping into her voice, “what is the trial?”

 

     The captain replied through Frederick, “Be at the training grounds in an hour to find out.”

 

*

 

     Elska had no idea where or what the training grounds were. Luckily Frederick remained by her side even as the darkness of night began looming over the forest. He was very familiar with the compound, claiming he played with a boy named Isaac here. It seemed word of the trial spread fast, for not long after they arrived at the training grounds, a dozen or so other faces showed up too.

 

     The area was an open circle of packed dirt, a ring of stones marking its edges. There were painted targets here, straw and burlap dummies there, wooden practice weapons lying on the sidelines and bloodstains on the ground. Elska waited with Frederick as more and more people arrived to watch the trial.

 

     Finally she saw the captain making his way down the trail. Only now did she notice that one of his legs was missing, and in its place was a silver peg. This time his torso was bared, though it was so hairy Elska didn’t realize it at first.

 

     Frederick told her that Captain Evan Atlas and most of his crew were “human” peoples. They did not have fur on their bodies like centaurs, he said, and that’s why they wore clothes. Evan must have been a bizarre exception, she thought. He reminded her of the big, shaggy wolves from back home.

 

     The crowd surrounding the circle whooped and cheered in their foreign language. Most of them had drinks in their hands. Among them Elska could see Lukas, the man from the gate, and he looked just as stoic as he’d been before. Evan stopped before her and Frederick relayed his words.

 

     “He says some of his Guys are gonna fight you. But you can’t use weapons and you can’t kill or maim anyone! Whoever’s back touches the ground first loses.”

 

     “And just how many opponents will I face?” asked Elska.

The captain waved his hand with a shrug as he replied through Frederick, “As many as it takes for him to make a decision, he says.”

 

     Elska rolled her eyes. Whatever _that_ meant, she thought, but agreed to the trial anyway. She stepped into the ring with Evan as the people around them cheered with excitement. They stood on opposite ends of the circle, waiting for someone to give a signal.

 

     Elska thought the captain a fool. She would have him on his back within seconds of that signal, just as she’d have the rest of his puny crew. They didn’t weigh a fraction of her heft and she was certain they didn’t have a fraction of her muscle either. This trial was a pointless waste of time as far as she was concerned.

 

     From the corner of her eye she saw someone step into the edge of the ring. It was none other than Lukas, who held his hands wide apart. Then he loudly clapped them together with a shout. There was the signal, and instantly Elska charged for her opponent on thundering hooves.

 

     Evan held his ground, bracing himself on his mismatched legs. He stood no chance. Elska extended her elbow and prepared to ram him down. Just before she made contact, the captain rolled to the side and momentum sent her careening outside the ring. The crowd parted for her with excited whoops and splashes of spilled beer.

 

     Elska stumbled, dug her hooves into the soil to stop herself. The instant she turned, she felt a heavy weight clambering up her equine back. It was Evan, now sitting upon her like a beast of burden. He seized her long golden hair in his fist like reigns, waving to his crew with the other. They went wild with delight as Elska seethed with rage.

 

     She charged back into the ring, rearing and bucking, spinning in circles, doing everything in her power to shake him. But he’d locked his arms around her elbows, digging his heel and his peg into her sides. Her arms were pinned behind her back and she was shocked by the strength of this human—surely it wasn’t natural!

 

     Elska spun and writhed but Evan was stuck to her like sap, playfully shouting gibberish at her all the while. Her blood ran hot with anger. She heard a little voice rise above the others, speaking to her in the only language she understood. Frederick hollered, “He’s saying ‘roll over and crush me’! And um, he’s calling you names!”

 

     Elska considered it. She reared up, then quickly planted her hooves back down when she realized: it was a trick. As satisfying as it would be to crush her obnoxious jockey, it would also put her on her back and lose the match. So the captain wasn’t the fool she thought he was…

 

     But she knew her father was watching her from the stars, and how disappointed he’d be to see his daughter bested by a human. A _crippled_ human, no less! So Elska reared up once more, kicked her front legs and stumbled backwards. Evan leaped off with a confident grin. It faded quickly, for he realized Elska had tricked him right back.

 

     Rather than falling backwards, she threw herself to the side and slammed her equine chest against the captain. He wheezed as the wind was knocked from his lungs. His back hit the ground with a poof of dry dust, and not a second later Lukas clapped and shouted, officially ending the match.

 

     Elska scowled down at the captain while he dizzily righted himself. After brushing the dust from his pants, he shot her a smile and left the ring. She crossed her arms and waited for the next challenger. After some deliberation, another human entered the ring.

 

     He was child-sized but surely no child, with his full blond beard and mane of messy, long hair. He was still pulling his shirt off as he stumbled into the ring, exposing a round belly beneath. He finished the last bit of drink in his stein before tossing it back into the crowd. He grinned and shouted gibberish towards Elska as he flexed his muscles.

 

     _This_ is who Evan chose to face her? The man was drunk as the day was long, short as a tundra clover and round as a snowball! The opponents took their places on opposite ends of the ring. Lukas gave the signal, and then they charged at one another.

 

     Elska was ready to kick this ball of a man out of the arena, but as she reared up, he shot down. He dove into a somersault and landed between her legs. Just as quickly, he shot to his feet and rammed his shoulder into her belly, and using leverage he nearly lifted her off the ground.

 

     The centaur flailed about in shock. For a second or two all of her feet wouldn’t touch the ground. Then she wriggled off of him, staggered away, nearly fell down as he intended. But she managed to catch her balance, and just as soon the man was bolting towards her again.

 

     He slammed his shoulder into her side, almost knocked her over once more. She swung at him with her fist, but he was so short that she caught nothing but air. This drunken barbarian was relentless. He clung to one of her legs and she flailed to kick him off. He just whooped and laughed, having the time of his life.

 

     His weight was too much. Every time Elska tried to shake him she nearly fell over and cost herself the match. His elbows and knees were wrapped around her front leg like a vine to a tree. He would let go for nothing, just laughing and laughing away.

 

     Her little friend called to her once more from the sidelines, “That’s Glen! He’s really ticklish!”

 

     Her opponent thought he was so funny…Elska would give him something to laugh about. She bent over and seized this Glen under the armpits, began wiggling her fingers like crawling bugs. The man howled with laughter and finally let go. Just as soon as he rose to his feet, she turned around and bucked at him, sending him flying into the crowd.

 

     Three or four people went down with him. When the dust settled, Glen was out cold on his back. Lukas ended the match with a shout and Elska stood victorious. She watched Evan disappear behind the crowd as they murmured amongst themselves. After some time, he returned with a third challenger.

 

     Elska’s eyes rounded when another centaur stepped into the ring. His long black hair was bound in thick locks, all adorned with beads and clasps. His complexion was deep and dark like damp soil. The fur of his equine body was black like the hideous mounts the beetle-backs had chased her upon.

 

     But this centaur was far from hideous. She actually thought him quite handsome. He greeted her with a grin and some words, which she was disappointed she could not understand. It seemed Olof was right. She was alone here with her foreign tongue.

 

     There was no time left to dwell on it. Lukas stepped forward to start the match. As the centaurs took their places, Elska heard her little friend shout, “Javaan fights dirty! Be careful!”

 

     Lukas gave the signal, and Javaan was speeding towards her like a bird in flight. This time Elska held her ground, braced her hooves in the dirt. Javaan slammed into her and the two grappled eachother’s torsos, locked in a battle of muscle.

 

     The crowd around them roared as they tried to wrestle eachother to the ground. All her life, Elska was taught to never harm another centaur’s legs. But here was this centaur with no such manners, sweeping his hooves under her to trip her. He hooked her front leg and she lost her balance, fell to her knees.

 

     Javaan then threw his weight against her. Elska was barely holding herself upright as he tried to flip her over. Her muscles quaked with exertion and she could not hold his entire weight for much longer. Then she realized she was eye-level with his knees. So she reached out, seizing his knee in her fist to yank it forward.

 

     Javaan’s hooves slipped in the dirt. He wobbled for a second, and that second was just enough time for Elska to heave herself back to her feet. She grasped his front legs in her hands and lifted his front end high, forced him to rear all the way back. Then with a mighty growl, she gave him a shove.

 

     Javaan flipped backwards and took a nasty fall. His back slammed into the dirt with an enormous cloud of dust. There he lay, still dazed for several seconds after Lukas ended the match. Finally someone crept into the ring and helped him up. Elska watched him wobble away, then she turned to Captain Atlas.

 

     He was staring back at her with intensity, rubbing at his chin as if in thought. “There is nothing more you can throw at me!” she shouted to him. “I’ve proven myself a capable warrior three times over! Stop wasting my time and make your decision!”

 

     Frederick trotted over to the captain and spoke the translation in his ear. Elska planted her hands on her hips, waiting impatiently as Evan said something back to the boy. They spoke back and forth for some time, then to her surprise, Frederick came bounding into the ring.

 

     “He says _I’m_ your last challenger!” the little centaur beamed. He struggled out of his cotton shirt and tossed it aside, flexing muscles he simply didn’t have. “But I’m not gonna tell you my secrets! You have to defeat me on your own!”

 

     Cocking an eyebrow, Elska shot a doubtful look at Evan. He regarded her with a smug grin. Then she furrowed her brow at him and growled, “You bastard,” caring not that he didn’t speak her language. Her expression said enough. She looked back to Frederick, who seemed to believe he was really going to defeat her.

 

     And he was right.

 

     When the match began, Elska and Frederick charged at one another. Elska slowed to a stop just before they collided and allowed Frederick to seize her hand. He let out a growl as he pulled her down with all his might, and Elska immediately threw herself to the ground.

 

     If Evan thought she was going to stoop so low, to fight a mere child, he was terribly wrong. If that was the kind of crew he ran then she wanted no part in it. She rolled onto her back and feigned agony. “You are much too strong, Little One!” she groaned. “I am defeated!”

 

     Lukas ended the match. The little centaur whooped with glee and galloped back towards Evan. Elska rose up and followed him, the drunken crowd chattering excitedly around her. She stormed up to Evan and jabbed him in the chest with her finger, snarling, “I failed your disgusting trial and I care not! I would never work for anyone who would ask me to harm _children_! You should be ashamed of yourself, you cretin!”

 

     Frederick shot her a puzzled look, then translated her words to the captain. She hardly expected Evan to _laugh_ , but that’s just what he did before he explained through Frederick, “But you _didn’t_ fail, Elska! He says he wasn’t testing your muscle, he was testing your heart...”

 

     Frederick’s smile stretched ear to ear as he continued, “…And you passed! He really likes you and he wants you on his crew as soon as possible! But, um…He thinks you should learn at least a little _Universa_ before you take your first contract.”

 

     Elska’s brows arched in surprise. “Oh! uh, yes,” she said. “I agree! Though I doubt your father will be eager to teach me after what I’ve done…”

 

     “It’s okay,” Frederick assured her, “I can teach you myself! Dad’s not the boss of me, I’m eleven years old now.”

Elska smiled and replied, “You have some years to go yet, Little One. Speaking of, I…” She paused, shook her head with a sigh. “I think I owe your father an apology. Tell the Captain I will return shortly.”

 

*

 

     That night, Elska was initiated as the eleventh Freelance Good Guy.

 

     She was given a tour of the compound and told that she could build herself a house on this property whenever she could afford it. But for now, homeless mercs dwelled in the boarding house. It wasn’t exactly built for centaurs in mind, leaving Elska to duck through every doorway and stoop for everything else.

 

     But it was better than having nothing and no one, which is what she would face if she returned to Loreham. Just thinking about her old village made her head spin. Her world was so small then. She had known nothing at all! And in just two short days, the universe had expanded into something alien, frightening, and utterly fascinating.

 

     That night, Elska gathered bundles of long grasses and brought them inside her empty new bedroom. She spread them across the floor to make a bed. It felt a _little_ more like home, but being separated by everyone else at night was a foreign concept to her. Why did everyone need walls between them? It had never been that way in Loreham.

 

     The room was too lonely, so Elska went back outside and lied down near a crackling campfire. Other mercenaries were up late too, roasting meat and vegetables above the flames. She didn’t remember all their names and couldn’t speak their language anyway, so she simply rested there and enjoyed their presence.

 

     She heard plodding hooves and saw Frederick approaching with something in his hands. It was his little animal toy of bone, chipped and worn and well played with. “What are you doing up so late? Shouldn’t you be at home?” Elska queried.

 

     The little centaur sat beside her and replied, “I was just playing with my friend, Isaac. But he had to go to bed and I’m still not tired! If I go home, my dad will make me go to bed too.”

 

     Elska smiled and patted his head. Some time passed as they watched the fire. Its popping and crackling played percussion to the distant crickets’ melodies.

 

     Then Elska turned back to the boy and asked, “Frederick, can I ask why you chose to help me? I’m sure your father was not happy with you for that.”

 

     Frederick took a moment to reply, turning the toy over in his hands. Finally he shrugged and mumbled, “You said you wanted to free Evangeline’s slaves. I think that’s really neat, ‘cause…Well, my mom might be one of their slaves too. I thought…Maybe, um…”

 

     “You thought I could bring her back to you,” Elska finished gently.

Frederick nodded. “Yeah! Will you do it, Elska? Please?”

“It may take a very long time. But I promise I will try my best, Little One. Can you tell me what she looks like?”

 

     The boy scratched at his round face in thought. “I don’t remember, actually,” he said. “I was really little when she went away. But dad said she’s very pretty and we have the same color hair. She was a bone carver, so she has lots of scars on her hands and a missing finger. Oh, and she has tattoos on her face just like his!”

 

     Elska recalled Olof’s tattoos, like little spirals hanging down from the corners of his eyes. “I will remember that,” she told him. Frederick smiled. Then he leaned over and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight squeeze.

“Thank you,” he said.

 

     Elska patted his back. “Do not thank me yet. I am still a long way from earning this _gold_ your captain’s been on about. The sooner you teach me this ugly language, the sooner I can start breaking our peoples’ bonds.”

“Well,” Frederick began, “I ate a bunch of candy earlier so I’ll never be tired again. I can start teaching you now if you want!”

 

     Picking a pebble off the ground, Elska tossed it in the fire and said, “Very well. I know you will make a poet of me in no time.”

“But wait,” Frederick added. “If I teach you, you gotta teach me too. I wanna know how to fight like you do so I can be a Freelance Good Guy someday!”

 

     He frowned, eyes downcast. “Dad won’t teach me to fight. He says fighting is wrong, but I think _he’s_ wrong. I wanna fight the kingdom for taking my mom away!”

 

     “Oh, so you wish to learn the ways of warrior?” Elska grinned. “I am no expert myself. I used to think I could simply fight everything that ever wronged me. I see now that some foes are as fog—expansive and impossible. Blindly charging in could be your undoing. My father tried to tell me that long ago, but I was young and foolish then.”

 

     She picked up a stick and poked at the flames as she went on, “Before I teach you to fight, you must know the most important lesson my father taught me.”

 

     Frederick tilted his head. “What is it?”

 

     “The thirst for vengeance is a curse,” she told him. “Remember that.”

 

**END**


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